Blaine's Lament
by syntheticpoetry
Summary: Blaine surprise visits Kurt in New York.


**Author's Note: So I wrote this a little while ago when the "Blaine surprise visits Kurt!" spoilers came out but only got around to posting it just now. A little bit of angst and a little bit of fluff. **

* * *

"Even with Glee Club, I just feel really, really… alone," the words feel just as heavy when he says them. Purging himself has done nothing. This entire confession just feels… useless. _Has_ any of this meant anything?

"You're kind of killing my party buzz, bro," Sam means well, he's sure, but Blaine hadn't expected much when he sat down for the conversation. He hadn't intended to even _have_ a conversation like this but everything had boiled over so quickly that the words began to just fall out.

"Sorry, it's just that I did all of this for him. I did _all_ of this for him and now he's not here so it kind of just feels like," he sighs, weighed down and tired, "none of it matters."

"Of course it matters, you're McKinley's first gay guy president!" Blaine can actually envision the wheels turning in Sam's head as the blonde smiles back at him. Blaine considers spilling everything to him there, telling him the real reason behind his sullen mood… but he stops himself. He always stops himself.

"I guess you're right," he concedes and flicks a straw wrapper across the table. Sam stares at the table for a moment and searches for something to say, but Blaine's standing up and preparing to leave before his newly appointed vice president can get a word in. "I'm going to head out, I think. Thanks though—see you tomorrow?"

Sam nods, says something that Blaine doesn't quite catch as he turns around and he almost walks directly into Brittany, who offers a polite "congratulations" that Blaine acknowledges in passing. His mind is racing at a million miles a minute and all that he can really focus on is trying to call Kurt once more. Navigating his way through the celebration party proves to be more difficult than he initially thought. Strangers offer their congratulations and though he should feel proud, should feel some sort of companionship with any of these people—he doesn't; he feels more isolated than ever, trapped in a whirlwind of feigned happiness and—

'_Why can't any of these people see that I'm faking everything?' _

He feels disconnected, wary of every single person's "kind" smiles and words; what was it his therapist had said so many years ago?

_Trust issues. The boy has trust issues. _

Blaine shrugs off the memory of an eavesdropped conversation between his parents and psychiatrist and shoulders past Brett and a collection of random classmates. He hopes not to draw attention to himself, but Brett takes notice and raises his fists in the air, shouting some nonsensical statement along with his congratulations. Blaine offers a humble smile, lingers for a second, and then steps outside. Away from all of the buzzing gossip he tries Kurt's cell phone once again, but he's already telling himself he knows his boyfriend isn't going to answer. It's his fourth time calling tonight and Kurt has let it ring less and less with each call before letting it go to voicemail. This time it's only two.

Two rings and Blaine's becoming better acquainted with Kurt's voicemail with every passing day they've been apart.

He bites his lip, tears sting his eyes, but he puts on a stern face and resigns to leaving a message. He clears his throat, anxiety crawling from the pit of his stomach like a four-legged beast, adamant on ruining the rest of his night. His voice still trembles when he speaks, "Hey, Kurt. It's uh—well, yeah you know it's me. Right. I… I won. The election. Me and Sam. So I," he takes a few steps away from Breadstix—towards the parking lot— massaging the back of his neck in a self-soothing gesture, "just wanted to… to tell you. Hope you're… pr—" And just like that the word lodges itself in his throat and he can't bring himself to say it.

'_Proud. I hope you're proud of me, Kurt. I just want to hear you say it.'_

He buries the statements and redirects, "Hope everything is going well for you over in—over there. Talk to you, um—talk to you soon." He pulls the phone away from his ear and taps the "end call" button a few times, knowing full well pressing it once has already done the trick. The prospect of returning to the restaurant doesn't seem all that promising and he remembers he's already told Sam he was going home. He shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and starts walking to his car, his uneasy mind already brewing up a storm. He meant it when he sent Kurt off, wanted him to spread his wings and realize the person he was meant to be, but not at the cost of losing him. He didn't sign up for this; didn't expect their Skype calls to be so one sided, didn't expect Kurt to get so caught up in his brand new life and forget about him.

But he had worried about this. He _had_ expected this, hadn't he? Kurt had reassured him otherwise though. And now he feels like a naïve child for complying with his boyfriend's nonchalant approach to the problem rather than stir the pot and remain persistent on his stance. They needed to talk about this, but Kurt kept brushing it off.

'_I can't do this anymore,'_ he thinks bitterly, unlocking his car and stepping inside. _'I have to do something; I can't keep doing this to myself.'_

The idea weasels its way into his brain before he knows what's hit him and within four hours he finds himself at the airport, plane ticket in hand, and $600 poorer than he was at the start of the day. He sends a text to Rachel to warn her and sends a silent prayer to some unknown being that she can keep a secret from Kurt for the next few hours.

**From: Rachel Berry 11:13 p.m.  
**You're joking. Are you really coming?

**To: Rachel Berry 11:15 p.m.  
**Boarding now. Please don't let it slip. I'll be in New York in 2 hours, at your apartment hopefully within an hour after that. See you guys soon.

**From: Rachel Berry 11:19 p.m.  
**But why so sudden?

**To: Rachel Berry 11:23 p.m.  
**I just miss you guys

He shuts off his phone before he has to fight his way through denying her a more extensive explanation. He'll save the conversation for when he absolutely needs to discuss things… and even then, he knows he'll probably just deflect. He takes his seat and starts jingling his legs anxiously as he focuses his gaze on the darkened world just outside of his tiny window. Three more hours and he'll either feel better or worse… he shoves his hands beneath his laps, crosses his fingers and hopes for the former.

* * *

"He's sleeping," Rachel murmurs as she slides the door shut behind Blaine. "I didn't wake him up, I figured you might want to."

"Thank you—" Blaine sets his duffel bag by the door.

"And I'm going to run out and grab a cup of tea, do you want anything?" she gestures towards the door with both hands, pointing at the hallway as though it holds everything she desires.

"Rachel, it's after 3 a.m.—"

"Oh, there are so many twenty-four hour places around here. There's a nice little diner just down the block, I'll be fine," she smiles and he doesn't know whether to kiss her for giving them some time alone or tether her to the couch to keep her from venturing out so late at night—the last thing he wants is for her to end up mugged or raped or—

"Really, I'll be okay. We've done it a few times since we've been here. Don't look so worried, Blaine Warbler," she pokes his chest and nods towards Kurt's bed, "Go on."

She's out the door before he can argue anymore. He glances around—the apartment seems bigger in person than it had over their brief Skype calls—before tentatively stepping towards Kurt's bed. Kurt's hair is tousled and he's curled into himself; a thin grey bed sheet is wrapped so tightly around him that it makes Blaine frown. He unbuttons his cardigan and drapes it neatly over the edge of the bed, steps out of his boat shoes and sinks down into the bed. He can't stop the sigh that breaches his lips when he slides an arm over Kurt's waist—their bodies fit together perfectly—and Kurt mimics the noise in his sleep. Blaine buries his face in Kurt's mussed hair, breathes in deep, and for one transcendental millisecond the apartment melts away along with all of his insecurities and concerns. It's as though they're back in his room after their first time "together" and he's never felt closer to anyone before.

"I love you," he positions his lips over the nape of Kurt's neck and murmurs the words at a decibel meant only for lovers' ears.

"Mm… Rachel, if you're trying to make me feel better by cuddling with me again, I swear to god I'll—" Kurt whines, sleepiness still holding him prisoner.

"Do I really feel like Rachel to you right now?" Blaine presses a soft kiss to the back of Kurt's neck. In an instant Kurt's sitting up so fast that he sends Blaine careening over the side of the bed and light from the bedside lamp bathes them just in time for Blaine to topple onto the floor. "Well, that's one way to greet your boyfriend—"

"Whatareyoudoinghere?" Kurt exclaims in one breath, suddenly very much awake.

"I… I missed you," Blaine frowns at Kurt's tone and remains on the floor; something sinister festers in his stomach and threatens to make him sick. "I thought you would be—you're not happy to see me?"

Kurt's eyes widen in the realization of what his reaction has caused Blaine to think and he scrambles out of bed to join him on the floor. "Nonono, of course I'm happy to see you! It's just—god, what time is it? When did you even get here? Is everything okay?" he all but throws his arms around Blaine and presses a few pecks onto his cheek. But this isn't what Blaine wants—after over five hundred miles of travel polite kisses just aren't going to cut it. He disregards Kurt's manic questioning, tugs him over by the shirt collar of his pristine silk pajamas and crushes their lips together with bruising force. Kurt's eyes slip shut and he melts into Blaine, fingertips dissolving into Blaine's own searing flesh.

"I told you— I missed you," Blaine offers against his lips like it's the simplest explanation in the world for why he's decided to suddenly travel five hundred miles on a whim (on a school night, no less.) Kurt doesn't pose any more questions— they both know there will be plenty of time for that come the morning—and they take the tiniest bit of temporary comfort in each other's clinging embrace.

For the meantime.


End file.
